


Echo

by veritas_st



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek's taken by the Wild Hunt, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 14:16:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11556927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritas_st/pseuds/veritas_st
Summary: “There’s no one left to remember me,” Derek’s voice came soft and sad, a vulnerability Stiles had never seen before.  “Everyone is gone except…”Stiles shook his head, the words wanted to come out but he couldn’t get them out.  “I just need someone to...just remember me Stiles,” Derek said, the fear on his face was terrifying.“Remember me…” he wrapped his hands around Stiles’ face, the wind howling outside the Camaro.  “Remember this…Remember I…...”





	Echo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrstotten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstotten/gifts).



> As always a HUGE thanks to the amazing mrstotten for the awesome beta work.

Over the years they had come to some sort of easiness. He’s not sure when it happened. When sniping and growling had become something different. They had always, for reasons unknown to them, meant more to each other than they knew. Always willing to sacrifice their own safety for the other. But when that had migrated to comfort, neither of them knew. 

When Derek left, Stiles had felt everyone's eyes on him, Scott, Kira, even Malia looking at him. There was no judgement, just eyes, heavy with a knowledge that Stiles didn’t want to understand. Not yet. 

But then Derek had returned. Come back into Beacon Hills with a screech of tyres and the smell of leather and rain. Stiles had found him in his bedroom, one of the books Deaton had given Stiles cradled in his hands in his lap. He looked so at home in the creaky desk chair, surrounded by red string, barely visible through the clear board covered in Post-It’s but Stiles had still found his heart in his throat. He had been researching the Wild Hunt, looking for something, anything to help, it was one of those books Derek now had in his hands, a line of worry burrowing between his eyebrows, everything so wonderfully familiar.

“Fuck.” Stiles exclaimed. “Jesus, don’t do that.” 

Derek closed the book and stood slowly whilst Stiles remained bent over with his hands on his knees. 

There was a hint of a smile lurking at the corner of Derek’s mouth and Stiles resisted the urge to punch him on the arm. It wouldn’t have done any good anyway. But Derek would have probably rubbed at the spot regardless, humouring Stiles. 

“What the ever loving hell are you doing here?” Stiles threw himself down on the edge of his bed and Derek hovered. 

“I can go…”

“No I don’t mean _here_ ,” Stiles replied quickly, his hand gesturing the expanse of his room. “I meant here in Beacon Hills, you idiot. What are you doing back? Where’s Braden?” Stiles dug around in his messenger bag and pulled out his phone.

“Didn’t work out,” Derek shrugged slightly. 

“Sorry,” Stiles muttered quietly as Derek sat down next to him. “Wanna talk about it?” 

“Not really,” Derek replied and Stiles huffed out a laugh, small and breathy. 

“Didn’t think so.” Stiles could hear the tinge of bitterness in his own words.

“I felt…” Derek started and Stiles felt like he was holding his breath. He didn’t look at Derek, just put his phone face down on the comforter and fiddled with the cuff of his hoodie. “I felt something coming...here. Something...bad and…” Derek stopped and huffed, frustrated and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not the alpha anymore but this town, the pack...you...you’re my responsibility.” Derek was quiet for a few seconds, like he was waiting for Stiles to catch up and Stiles just nodded, leaning ever so slightly closer to heat that Derek always gave off. “She didn’t get that.” 

“We’re not your responsibility,” Stiles stated, after a small pregnant pause. Derek flinched next to him and Stiles put a hand to Derek’s knee. A small gesture but Derek stilled instantly. “Don’t take that on yourself. But we’re glad you’re here...I’m glad you’re here.” 

“Show me what you got,” Derek replied, a faint smile curling his lips and Stiles stood, picked up his marker from the board and pulled the cap off with his teeth, firing it across the room with his lips. 

“Right…” 

~~~~~

The others had seemed surprised to see Derek back and Stiles hadn’t missed the almost relief in Scott’s eyes when he saw him. Derek had held his hand out but Scott had pulled him into an awkward, brief hug. After that, things moved on fast.

Stiles didn't remember them working this well together before, sitting closer together, looking to the other for support, ideas occurring almost in tandem, he doesn't remember it being this easy. Together they seemed to get to the conclusions so much faster. Derek’s almost encyclopedic knowledge of the shadowy world they lived in becoming invaluable. 

It had been Derek, along with Lydia that had finally figured out it was the Wild Hunt for definite, Stiles suspecting but the other two banging the nail on the head with their findings. Derek who had seen them on a dark road in the middle of the night. They hadn’t fully realised at that point exactly what that meant.

And then Liam had forgotten who Derek was, his eyes confused and questioning as he had stared at Derek like he was a stranger and Stiles’s blood had run cold. 

“We’ll find a way to stop them,” Stiles said, pouring through records and books his movements frantic and jerky, the books. Lydia sitting alongside him flicked through page after page of the internet, a small line of worry sitting between her perfect eyebrows. 

“Stiles,” Derek shook his head. His hand reaching out and stilling Stiles shaky hands. “They’re gonna take me.” 

“No.” The word rang out empty, hollow. In a fit of anger Stiles swiped the books from the desk and Lydia and Scott jumped at the noise. Derek remained annoyingly impassive. “No,” he repeated softer. “Dammit, Derek you didn't come back for this.” 

“If they take me, they won't take you,” the words seemed heavy between them like Derek was trying to say something without having to say it out loud. He cleared his throat. “They won't take any of you.” 

“That’s bullshit,” Stiles spits, “They’ll take the whole goddamn town and you know it.” 

~~~~~

Malia forgot him next, staring blankly at him across the room and Stiles had wanted time to just stop. To freeze everything and give him time to figure this out because he just got Derek back and they weren’t allowed to take him. 

Lydia forgot next, then Scott. 

And then it was just Stiles left, the only one who remembered him, and then they ran. Stiles grabbing his hand and running from the invisible horsemen whilst Derek shouted the directions they were coming from. 

Then they were in Derek’s Camaro, Stiles was left staring out into the darkness, seeing nothing and unable to stop the silent invisible creatures who had come to tear apart their lives.

Derek sat silently beside him, his breathing soft and deep 

“There’s no one left to remember me,” Derek’s voice came soft and sad, a vulnerability Stiles had never seen before. “Everyone is gone except…”

Stiles shook his head, the words wanted to come out but he couldn’t get them out. “I just need someone to...just remember me Stiles,” Derek said, the fear on his face was terrifying.

“Remember me…” he wrapped his hands around Stiles’ face, the wind howling outside the Camaro. “Remember this…Remember I…...”

He pulled Stiles forward and covered his mouth with his own stopping the words before they fell. It was soft, a sweet slide of stubble against Stiles’s chin and Derek’s fingers against the back of his neck, Stiles wrapped his fingers around Derek’s wrists. He was caught off guard, stunned into just holding on instead of kissing Derek back like he’d wanted to, like he had wanted to since Derek had been back. Hell, since before he had even left. 

He held on until the door of the Camaro ripped open. 

He held on as Derek muttered “remember me” again against his lips. 

He held on until Derek was ripped from his fingers. 

~~~~~

Stiles awoke with a start, the image of a storm fading rapidly behind his eyes. There’s a headache pounding behind there as well and he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

There’s something niggling at the back of his mind, something he can’t quite reach like the faint noise of a distant radio, the crackle of a storm somewhere waiting. Stiles’ hands shake slightly and as he looks down at them he’s hit with the overwhelming feeling that they’re empty. That something should be in his hands. Something was missing.

He stumbles to the shower and presses his head against the cool tiles.

It helps some, and by the time he’s dressed and bitching to his dad about not using the decaf coffee he feels almost back to normal. All except that faint niggling feeling that he’s forgetting something, something important.

“What day is it?” He asks and the Sheriff pauses for a second, an eyebrow raised over one eye. 

“Tuesday. You ok?” 

“...yeah. I feel like I’m forgetting something.” The Sheriff throws down the last of his coffee and dumps his mug into the sink. 

“School?” 

“Hilarious.” 

~~~~~

The feeling intensifies as he gets to Beacon Hills High School, the smell of leather and the crackle of lightning in the air, but then Scott’s there with a warm smile on his face and an arm thrown across his shoulder, a warm happy smile and the feeling disappears, leaving behind warmth and blue skies. 

“What are you so happy about?” Stiles asks, hitching his messenger bag higher on his shoulder. 

“Sometimes you gotta smile through the crap, you know?” Scott laughs and Lydia appears next to them. She’s all immaculate hair, towering heels and tiny dresses that miss out on being provocative and are just so _her_. But there is worry etched into her face, her lips pursed slightly.. 

“What’s up Lyds?” 

“Did you hear the storm last night?” She asks, tucking a small curl behind her ear as they head into school. The rest of her red hair is pulled back from her face with some elaborate braid and not for the first time Stiles wonders if she has a team of hair and make-up experts living with her, because otherwise he has no idea how she ever makes it to school in time. 

“Yeah, why? You worried?” Scott asks, slamming the door of his locker shut, shifting an almost impossible pile of books under his arm. 

“Always,” she replies. “Especially lately. We have a Wild Hunt who don’t seem to be hunting anything and we have no idea what they want” 

“We’ll figure it out,” Scott says, “Gotta go.” He waves distantly and bounds off down the hall. 

“Worried about anything new?” Stiles asks as Lydia huffs out a sigh, pursing her lips. 

“I’m not sure yet. Just...it’s like I can hear something but I don’t know what,” she looks up at him, small and almost fragile and if Stiles didn’t know how strong she really was he would want to pull her close and protect her. Of course she would kick his ass if he even tried. “You look tired.” she says, worry creeping though her voice.

“I’m going to read that as ‘you look like shit’,” he says with a laugh that sounds strained and hollow. Lydia draws her eyebrows together the look on her face unimpressed. 

“I’m alright,” he says and scrubs a hand over his face. His eyes feel gritty and there’s still a sense of pins and needles at the back of his neck. “No really,” he insists, nudging her arm, “just a headache.”

“Well…” she pauses for effect and the mood is lifted. She nudges his arm back softly and he resists the urge to put his arm around her. 

“Sit next to me in History so I can copy your notes?” 

“If I didn’t let you copy them you’d just steal them so I don’t really have a choice do I?” 

“Not really.” 

~~~~~

Stiles can’t take his eyes off the Camaro sitting outside the History room window.

It’s sleek and black but there’s a fine layer of dust over it like it’s been there for a few days without moving. He doesn’t recognise it, he’s pretty sure it doesn’t belong to anyone he knows but he can’t take his eyes off it. Something about it seems, familiar, important. The noise of the classroom filters out in the background as he stares at the car and the prickling at the back of his neck gets worse. He rubs a hand over the skin there, narrowing his eyes at the seemingly innocuous car. 

He smells leather all of a sudden, like sliding into a new car or settling on a couch, running fingers across a leather jacket. There’s an underlying scent of something else, something natural, something like...rain. _Petrichor_ , Stiles thinks. 

“...Stiles…” Lydia hisses from his left and he starts, turning back to see her staring at him, worried and cross at the same time. “Where were you?” 

“Whose car is that?” Stiles asks and Lydia leans forward far enough to see past him through the window. 

“What?” 

“That car, whose is it?” He’s got his eyes on the car again but he can feel Lydia’s gaze on him. 

“Does it matter?” She asks and Stiles shakes his head slightly to clear it. There’s something happening here, something wrong and Stiles can’t put his finger on it. 

“There’s something wrong Lydia. Can’t you feel it?” He says, looking back at Lydia and he knows part of her understands. 

“No but I can hear it, listen…” Lydia cocks her head to the side and Stiles can see the look in her eyes go glassy, far-away and he knows she’s trying to hear something that Stiles can’t. “I can’t get a hold of it.” She looks frustrated and mad at herself. “It’s there but it’s like...I’m not...close enough.” 

“I need to see that car,” Stiles decides.

~~~~~ 

Stiles runs the tips of his fingers over the shiny metal of the Camaro. He feels something coming from the car, but he can’t put his finger on what. There’s a hint of a memory lurking at the back of his mind, and Stiles tries to reach it. It flitters away, like something you can only see from the corner of your eye. He sighs and Lydia stands closer to him as Scott walks up to them. 

“So this is it?” Scott asks and Stiles sees Lydia nod. “It’s not ringing any bells for me, dude.” 

“Shhh,” Stiles lets his palm rest of the slightly dusty, warm metal and he’s hit with a fuzzy memory, like watching a horror movie through a blanket. 

_“Remember this…” lips against his, hands on his face, fear thrumming between both of them. Strong, warm wrists captured in his fingers. Then suddenly gone._

“I was in this car,” Stiles says, slightly breathless. “I was in this car and they took someone. Someone...important. Shit.” He runs a hand through his hair. Trying, grasping at the feelings before they vanish.

“What do you mean they took someone?” Scott asks and Lydia’s hand is gentle at his elbow. 

“The Hunt, think about it. They’ve been here for weeks and what have they done? Caused a few storms and that’s it? We’ve been trying to figure out what they are doing, what they want. What if...shit...what if they are taking people and we don’t remember? What if that’s what they’ve been fucking doing all this time? How many people have we lost?” He feels the panic rising at the back of his throat and Lydia’s fingers dig into his skin, wiring him to Earth, grounding him. He focuses on the pain as his hands shake. 

“Stiles....” 

“No, someone important was in this car with me, I know it and now they’re not here. Why else would I remember this car Scott? I know it sounds crazy but I know it’s true.” He looks at Lydia for reassurance and she just nods once at him. 

“I feel something too Scott,” he agrees, her finger wrapping around Stiles wrist. “I feel something, can hear something and I can’t get a handle on it. Maybe there is something to this. Maybe this person was...is important not just to Stiles but to all of us,” she shrugs, a gesture so unlike Lydia and Scott sighs knowing he is beaten.. 

“Ok, what do we do?” 

~~~~~

It takes them weeks to figure it out, weeks of Stiles feeling empty, empty heart, empty hands, feeling hollow like something is missing but not knowing what. Weeks of Stiles dreaming of dark hair, leather and the smell of rain, a face with blue green eyes and a wide, rare smile that disappears when he wakes. 

The frustration eats away at him, makes him jumpy, snappy, willing to try anything, which is how he had managed to talk Lydia into this.

Lydia, fingers are wrapped around Stiles’, as she stare into a candle flame in utter silence. Her other hand moves, and Stiles can feel the electricity running through him, into her. The pencil in her hand scrapes across the paper and Stiles can’t take his eyes off the words appearing in front of him. 

_Hale Hale Hale_

His mind automatically goes to Peter, to Malia, but it takes Deaton to notice the blank spaces between the words spell out Derek and Stiles frowns at the name, a flicker of a memory dancing across his brain again. 

“Peter,” Scott says his voice hard, angry. “You think he has something to do with this?”

Stiles looks at Malia, taking in her stiff stance and lowered eyes. They tend not to talk about Peter in front of her. 

“No it’s not him, we remember him. Who is Derek?”

Scott looks at Malia but she shrugs faintly, her voice soft and brittle. “I barely know Peter, never mind any of the Hales.”

Stiles brings up a browser on his phone and searches frantically. Article after article talks about the fire. Entire family wiped out, leaving behind only Peter and Laura, the niece Peter had murdered. 

“Nothing. Nada. Zilch,” Stiles exclaims throwing his phone across the floor and sinking to the ground, his head banging against the wall.

“Not nothing,” Malia says crouching down beside him. “We have a name, Derek.”

“Derek,” Stiles repeats. “Derek Hale,” something felt right about it.

“You’re getting upset, because you believe the Wild Hunt is taking people and making us forget them right?” Malia asks, looking Stiles in the eyes.

“Right,” He nods, a feeling of something unfamiliar, something like hope rising in him.

“So we wouldn't remember the name, but it's important, you recognise it, Lydia wrote it, it means _something_.”

“The old Hale house is at the edge of the wood,” Scott says and Stiles nods at him. 

“I don’t need to tell you to be careful,” Deaton calls after them. 

~~~~~

The house creaks under the unfamiliar intrusion of feet. It smells of old smoke and dirt, rain and mold linger under the smoke still caught in the wooden floorboards. The whole place is barely holding it together and Stiles can relate.

He stumbles on one of the loose floorboards and wraps his fingers around the doorframe for support. As soon as his skin touches the wood he’s hit with an onslaught of images, memories flooding back, Derek’s name on his lips, Derek’s hands on him, Derek trying to be terrifying, Derek smiling, Derek leaving. Derek. 

_Derek._

“Derek,” he chokes out, he feels winded can feel the floor reaching up as he calls but then Scott’s strong hands have him, worried face swimming at the edge of his vision. “His name was Derek Hale. He...Scott he helped us when Peter bit you. He...saved my life, he saved our lives. I saved his. Shit Scott, they took Derek.” 

~~~~~~

No One else remembers Derek still but Stiles can feel him now, in his hands. The ghost of the memory of him, wrists in his fingers, pulse thudding against his thumb. 

“Why is the car still here?” Stiles asks suddenly and Lydia looks up from the book she’s reading. 

“I’ve been thinking about that and I think it’s an echo,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. It’s held back by a band today, a small group of expensive looking fake flowers is tucked into the band behind her other ear. She looks like Titania. 

“An echo?” Scott replies and Stiles’ can’t help the snort that escaped him. “Shut up.” he says good naturedly.

“He meant something to us,” Lydia shrugs again, “Means something, he is pack,” she states, strongly, certain. “As long as pack remains, an echo of him does.” Stiles nods, the word pack making him feel warm, safe.

“But why don’t I remember him then?” Scott asks. “Why don’t you,” he points at Lydia, and Stiles can feel the uncertainty, understands it. Scott needs hard facts, certainty. Hell Stiles had believed Scott was a werewolf before Scott did. He knows Scott needed more. Needed the truth. 

“I remember him because he meant something...more to me,” Stiles starts, “I think he...he kissed me, right before he was taken. He kissed me. I think I...” Stiles can feel his cheeks burning, the words trailing away.

“Oh.” Scott sits down next to him. “I didn’t know.” 

“...me neither.” Stiles replies, and he can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes him. 

“We’ll get him back.” Scott says, patting Stiles’s knee. 

“How?” 

“Actually,” Lydia stands, her eyes bright. “I have an idea.” 

~~~~~

“This is stupid,” Malia looks worried and confused and Lydia looks guilty, like she might vomit. 

“No it’s not,” Stiles replies, glaring at the ice bath. The idea was to lower Stiles’ temperature enough, slow his heart rate, to mirror Lydia’s trance like state, to find a connection between him and Derek. Stiles doesn’t have fond memories of the ice bath but he’s done it and been through it and Lydia’s hands were on his shoulders the whole time. They’ll be there again this time. 

The cold hits him like a brick to the chest, Lydia’s hands a point of warmth on his skin. He reaches back and winds his fingers into hers briefly. She squeezes as he takes a breath and lowers his shoulders under the water. 

He hears her, Lydia, through the roar of blood in his ears, hears her direct him. “Think of Derek, Stiles. Think of him. Find your way to him.”

~~~~~

_He’s in the Hale house, the wide staircase is in front of him._

_“I’m gonna die without it,” Stiles turns towards the voice, sees a much younger version of himself staring down at a pale, bleeding Derek._

_“You need me to survive,” Stiles spins around as they are both in the pool at Beacon Hills and Stiles can feel the burning in his lungs as he treads water, keeping Derek afloat._

_“Each spiral means something,” Stiles spins again and sees himself look at Derek and then down to the Talisman in his hands._

_“Alpha, Beta, Omega.”_

_So many memories wrapped up in Derek._

_“Derek!”_

_“Stiles,” Stiles turns and sees the car. Can see through the windows to Derek wrapping his hands around his face and pulling him closer. “Remember this. Remember I….” He hears the words in his head._

_He’s reaching for Derek, taking a step towards the car and then there’s blinding light in front of his eyes, there is a shape, like a door next to the car, opening up, the light shining through and he knows if he just reaches it, if he could just get it open and then pain fills his head just as he cries out._

_“Derek”_

 

~~~~~

“Jesus Stiles, wake up,” Stiles’ cheek hurts. That’s the first thing he notices, the second is the pain in his head. The third is he can’t stop shaking. 

Scott crouches in front of him, Lydia is behind him, rubbing her hands up and down his arms. He leans back into her warmth. 

“You scared me.” Scott says and Malia crouches down next to him. 

“Did it work?” Stiles ask and he sees Scott share a look with Lydia. 

“Doesn’t look like it, I’m sorry.” 

“I saw him, I saw...us,” Stiles chokes down the last word as Malia’s hand squeezes his shoulder gently. “I remember everything.” 

Malia opens her mouth to say something but before she can there is what sounds like an earthquake, Stiles can smell burning and before he can blink they are in front of them. Huntsman, everywhere, all around them. Scott growls and Stiles jumps up, readying himself for a fight.

~~~~~

_Derek’s days were broken down by shadows. Each blending into the next. He had tried to connect at first, tried to speak to everyone he could, tried every way he could think of to get out. Then there was the voice, it sounded like Stiles, or a shadow of him, surrounded by other sounds. He could feel, rather than hear them. Feel the warm comforting strength of Scott, Lydia’s fire, Malia’s fierce protectiveness. But above all was Stiles, warm, solid and making Derek ache in a way he hadn’t for weeks._

_He could feel anger threatening, his eyes burning. He wanted to go home, he wanted another chance. He wanted – he wanted a chance with Stiles. A chance to finally put it all out in the open. He had tried. When he knew he was going to be taken, that this was his last chance to say it, he hadn’t said it but had tried with the kiss, tried to say the words with actions instead. He had felt Stiles stiffen in surprise, and he may have been fooling himself, but he had felt something more in Stiles’ fingers wrapped around his wrist and the open, honest look on his face as he was ripped from Stiles. A glimmer of hope – a spark of what could be. But then he had been dragged away, vanished, made invisible to everyone around him, like he didn’t even exist._

_But he had clung to that warmth of something and now it was like it was returning, like warmth was spreading through his fingers, down his arms, the sound, the feel of Stiles encompassing him._

_Then the door appeared._

~~~~~

 

“Bad guy, right?”

Stiles can feel the shock on his own face, the disbelief right before the joy spread. The warm solid feeling of home spreading through him. Derek’s there, in front of him, his claws out, his mouth threatening to break into a smile and all he can do is nod and then, as always in Beacon Hills there’s fire, death and a very pissed off dude after them, so less hugs, more running. 

Seriously there is a reason Stiles carries about an aluminium baseball bat the way other people carry about keys. It seemed to be never ending, and right in the middle of everything, legs aching, lungs burning, he’s lifting his bat to defend Derek that he sees him, really takes the time to drink in Derek, so alive and real in front of him. Stiles stops and looks at him, and the weight of Derek being gone and now back with him hits him like a tonne of bricks. 

"I didn't kiss you back. I didn’t say...” 

The words sound lost, regretful, even to his own ears, and Stiles knows he had accepted that he would never get the chance to kiss Derek, to tell him with words rather than actions how he felt. 

Stiles is moving before he even realises, his feet carrying him, weeks, months, years of longing driving him forward.

"You didn't have to." Derek says it gently, his chest moving as he breathes and Stiles sees his nostril twitch like he’s catching Stiles’ scent. 

His hands reach out and wrap themselves in Derek’s shirt, pulling him forward. When their lips meet it's almost enough. Stiles can feel Derek's heartbeat under his palm, opens his fingers over it, slides his other hand up and round, holding onto hair that feels softer than he would have thought. 

It takes a couple of seconds for Stiles to realise that Derek isn't kissing him back, his lips are still, unmoving, and Stiles brain clicks into a place, a million thoughts running, fighting for supremacy. Did he misjudge this? Had he literally just assaulted a werewolf with his lips? Had the kiss just been to force Stiles to remember him? His body seems to be catching up with his thoughts and he starts to pull back.

Derek lets out a small growl, pulling him back, spinning Stiles around, slamming his back against the wall, trapping him in the circle of his arms, as if daring him to try and escape.

"Hell no, you're not leaving, I'm not losing you again." The words are whispered against his lips. 

And they’re kissing again, full of promise and everything they’d missed, the time and the misunderstandings. It feels like everything had been working up to this point, every time Derek had growled at Stiles, shoved him against a wall, gently protected him without Stiles realising and he feels like such a fool. 

“I thought I was losing my mind,” Stiles mutters, tugging Derek impossibly closer, pushing away the thought that perhaps this wasn’t the best time or place to try and get his hands down Derek’s pants. 

“I thought I was losing you,” Derek replies, slipping his thigh between Stiles’. 

“You were the one gone,” Stiles groans, the harsh slide of Derek’s stubble against his throat. 

“And you brought me back,” Derek looks at him, a look of pure honesty on his face and Stiles wants to look away, wants to blink against the genuine trust. Derek had no doubt Stiles would find a way to bring him back. “You remembered me.”

Stiles opens his mouth to say something, although he’s not sure what when Scott, out of breath and with a clear look that says everything just went to absolute shit again.

“Derek,” Scott looks shocked, like he’s seeing a ghost and Stiles can see all the memories of Derek flooding back into Scott. Derek takes a step back and lets his hands slip to Stiles’ hips. A finger curls into the belt loop on Stiles’ jeans. Like he can’t let him go and Stiles knows the feeling. “It worked.” A grin breaks out on Scott’s face as Derek reaches a hand out to Scott. Scott shakes his head and pulls Derek into a back breaking hug. “Good to have you back man. We’ve got a problem,” he looks at Stiles and jerks his head towards the hallway. 

“Haven’t we always,” Stiles sighs and goes to follow. Derek tugs him closer and presses a kiss to his lips, a whine escapes Stiles. “When this is over, I’m getting in your bed and not leaving for a week.” He promises and Derek’s eyes darken for a second.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he replies and Stiles winks at him.

“Let’s go save the world then.” 

And despite the fear, running, fire and death, there’s a small bloom of heat, hope, in Stiles’ chest. 

Despite everything he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that they’ll be alright. That he has a chance at a happy ending. With Derek.


End file.
